


take me home where I belong (I can't take it anymore)

by zerogravityzerochill



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Non-Sexual, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Toby Smith | Tubbo Needs a Hug, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), non-sexual nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29767524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zerogravityzerochill/pseuds/zerogravityzerochill
Summary: Tubbo swallows, and pushes back against the way the sight makes his heart twist with sorrow, with guilt. This whole situation is tortuous, is cruel, is so fundamentally wrong in so many ways, but it is the reality they live in now, and the one they have to contend with. They have to move forward, somehow, some way. Tommy has to.“Water’s ready.” He says, and holds his breath for the other boy’s reply.Tommy barely reacts, just tilts his head and fixes Tubbo with a blank, stormy grey stare. Tubbo feels something go sick inside him.Tommy only gives him a shrug, small and resigned.-----Or,Tommy struggles, after the prison. Tubbo helps as best as he can.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 18
Kudos: 328





	take me home where I belong (I can't take it anymore)

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS COMPLETELY PLATONIC YOU FUCKS IF ANY OF YOU EVEN TRY TO MAKE THIS ROMANTIC OR SEXUAL YOU'LL _WISH_ I STOPPED AT YOUR KNEECAPS.
> 
> After this, I've got a whole line up coming so you better be ready, including: clingy duo platonic soulmates au, a sequel to the Awesamdad piece I wrote, and more!
> 
> Title is from "Runaway" by Aurora
> 
> Comments, kudos, keysmashes, and screaming are all welcome, and come visit me at @zero-gravity-zero-chill on Tumblr! <3

Tubbo sits back on his haunches, watches the bath steadily warm, and sighs. 

It’s a mindless, simple task, preparing the bath. A distraction, something to keep his hands busy, and one that Tubbo will gladly take right now, because it keeps him from thinking, thinking about-

( _About the events of the past week, about how everything went to shit just when it started getting better, about how Tommy collapsed and shook in his arms when he left the prison, about how his best friend sits on his bed in the next room over, distant and still flinching from horrors Tubbo can only imagine, about how what a fucking useless friend Tubbo is-_ )

It had taken some hours to get Tommy to agree to the idea - or even respond at all. He had held onto Tubbo with a white-knuckled grip the whole way to Snowchester and after they arrived, only spoke in mumbled monosyllables and stuttered pleas, and would scream and sob whenever Tubbo tried to pull away. It wasn’t until after a good while of lying in bed, with gentle ministrations and whispered reassurances that he settled into a semblance of calm, and when Tubbo had tentatively suggested that they get him washed up to get rid of the leftover sweat and grime from the prison, Tommy had just sighed and gave a small, compliant nod.

( _Every part of it had made Tubbo’s stomach writhe with dread._ )

The water is almost done, and Tubbo peeks out into the bedroom to see how Tommy is holding up. He left the door open both so Tommy could see him at all times, and because of the way his breath would hitch whenever he was in a room with no clear escape. 

Not that it seems to matter very much, because when Tubbo steps in, Tommy isn’t watching him at all. He sits on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor and fingers digging into the mattress, as he stares at the wall ahead with far-off, stormy grey eyes. He’s perfectly still, his shoulders are slouched in a way that screams submission, and he doesn’t seem to have changed or reacted to anything at all since Tubbo got up to leave for the bathroom.

Tubbo swallows, and pushes back against the way the sight makes his heart _twist_ with sorrow, with guilt. This whole situation is tortuous, is cruel, is so fundamentally _wrong_ in so many ways, but it is the reality they live in now, and the one they have to contend with. They have to move forward, somehow, some way. _Tommy_ has to.

“Water’s ready.” He says, and holds his breath for the other boy’s reply.

Tommy barely reacts, just tilts his head and fixes Tubbo with a blank, numb stare. Tubbo feels something go sick inside him.

Tommy only gives him a shrug, small and resigned.

“Okay,” Tubbo breathes, and decides to take that for a yes, because it’s pretty clear Tommy isn’t interested in ( _isn’t able to_ ) emoting further. It’s also clear he isn’t going to get up on his own, so Tubbo crosses the threshold and - slowly, making sure Tommy can see what he’s doing - reaches down and disentangles one of his hand from the sheets, wrapping it in his own and tugging it to get Tommy to his feet.

He goes, unresisting. Tubbo isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or devastated by that.

“Let’s get you cleaned up!” He remarked, trying to inject a lightheartedness he doesn’t really feel and puts on a smile that feels fake even to him. Tommy scratches his arm, and follows without a sound. He doesn't meet his eyes.

( _The fear in Tubbo's gut twists tighter._ )

The bath sits there, warm and welcoming, faint wisps of steam coming off its surface. There's a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo next to it. Tubbo rolls up his sleeves, and turns back to his best friend, biting his lip. "You're- uh… you're-" he stutters, kicking himself for the awkwardness. "You're going to have to get undressed. Do you want to do that, or is it okay if I do?"

Tommy pulls a face at that, nose wrinkling in an obviously offended way, and Tubbo nearly laughs because it's such a _Tommy_ thing to do. He takes Tommy's hands moving towards his shirt hem as an assurance, and politely turns away and fiddles around aimlessly as there's a faint shuffling behind them and then the telltale splash of someone submerging themselves in water. When he turns back, Tommy is sitting in the tub, hunched so far forward Tubbo almost can't see his face, but that doesn't matter because when Tubbo takes a closer look, he finds himself abruptly choking on what he was going to say next.

It's nothing remarkable or frightening that's caught his attention, it's- it's just that-

( _There are so many he didn't know there were so many, gods-_ )

He knew Tommy had scars.

He knew, logically, that there was no way either of them could have survived everything they did and come out completely unscathed, physically or mentally. ( _The burns across his chest are testament to that_.) He knew Tommy more than likely had his own extensive collection of cicatrices- hell, Tubbo had seen most of them himself, he just-

He never knew how deep some of them were.

The ones on his back are most obvious- where wither scars sprawl, black and ugly like a warped spider's web, up and down the plane of his back and shoulders, spiraling down his biceps, and creeping up the back of his neck and into his hair. There are also delicate, pink fractals there, delivered by that chance lightning bolt on Doomsday, that crack across his best friend's shoulder and up onto his cheek like it was porcelain, some mockery of cruel beauty. _Lichtenberg_ , his mind supplies.

But it doesn't stop there.

The others are smaller, more scattered and pockmarked, but they're _there_ \- burns on his arms that stretch and anger the skin, countless scratches and slashes from dozens of battles, the thick line on his chest where Dream had killed him with his axe, a starburst where he shot him with his bow.

( _There are bruises too, fresh ones, that bleed red and purple on his wrists and arms and face, all of them in the shape of angry, cruel fingers, and the sight of them makes Tubbo want to break something - break_ **_Dream_ **.)

It's like looking at a marred canvas, one that's been ripped and bled so many times it's impossible to tell what it looked like before, and Tubbo almost goes lightheaded with it all.

( _How are there so many? How did they break you?_ )

He's pulled out of his reverie by Tommy making a small, questioning noise. He still won't meet Tubbo's gaze, but the tense hunch to his shoulders speaks of clear anxiety, so Tubbo jerks himself back to the present with a startled noise and muttered apology. He mentally smacks himself for allowing himself to get so wrapped up, and drags a stool and shuffles around until he's at the end of the tub, behind Tommy, with soap and a sponge in hand.

When he presses his hand to his back, Tommy shudders but doesn't pull away, so Tubbo starts rubbing small circles there, gentle reassurances to get him used to the touch, to gentleness, before he lathers his hands with soap. "I'm going to start with your back, okay?" He asks, quietly, and receives a nod in response.

He takes the sponge and washes it in wide arcs across his skin, before washing it off with the bowl, before he repeats the process - each time trying his best to go as slowly as possible, to be gentle, because this is Tommy and gods know Tommy needs gentle things right now.

Then he's finished the back and is pouring shampoo on his hands, and he gives another warning to Tommy, who accepts it with a shrug. He wets his hair and massages his fingers, taking care around the snarls and tangles, and loses himself in the methodic, looping motion.

At some point, Tommy starts shaking, with quiet sniffles and gasps that say he is trying to not cry and failing miserably, and Tubbo doesn't say anything. Just removes his hands and rests his chin in the suddy locks instead, heedless to how wet he's getting, and whispers quiet comforting things to Tommy and rocks them together until the tremors have eased and the sobs have quieted.

Tubbo eases off him, takes a deep breath, and says "I'm going to need you to turn around to wash it out, Tommy."

Tommy pulls away, taking a few breaths of his own. "Give me a minute." He whispers, small and vulnerable, but Tubbo is just glad he spoke at all.

"Alright."

Another deep breath, a straightening of the shoulders, and Tommy turns around, slowly, until he can meet Tubbo's gaze at last.

His eyes are still grey, there are still tear tracks on his cheeks, and every inch of his face is underlined with grief and sorrow and an aching, quiet brokenness. But he meets Tubbo's eyes all the same.

"There you are." Tubbo says, not bothering to hide his smile or tears gathering in his own eyes.

Tommy shakes, breathes, and smiles too.

( _There I am._ )


End file.
